


My Valet's Eyes

by flufshepherd



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 12:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21301775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flufshepherd/pseuds/flufshepherd
Summary: I shifted on my perch, and it seemed that hours passed with our eyes locked together in a rather steamy stare. It seemed to me that we were having a full-blown conversation right there, without opening our mouths once. I'll be damned if I could say what we were talking about, but I can say that it, whatever it was, had me squirming quite visibly on that ottoman.
Relationships: Jeeves/Wooster
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96





	My Valet's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LiveJournal in 2006 for skyblue_reverie. Beta read by kitty_poker1. Edited for this re-post, because I can't help myself.

Jeeves really does have the most marvelous blue eyes. I mean, I've never noticed them before now, but they really are quite wonderful.

Jeeves, my valet, and I had recently come into a new form of relationship which was slightly different than what we were used to. A bit more informal, if you can catch my drift. Jeeves calls it a gentleman's agreement, but I call it bally magnificent. Whatever it's called, it wasn't the sort of relationship we were ready to advertise to the broader public, knowing we'd hardly be met with smiles, pats on the backs, and hearty "Congratulations, old chap!"'s.

Once entering this new state of affairs, I started noticing a lot of things about Jeeves that I'd never quite noticed before. For one, Jeeves happens to be remarkably ticklish. I'll not go into the full details of how I came to learn this, but I will tell you that it's a dashed convenient thing to know. As it turns out, if you ever have Jeeves trapped and are exercising this specific piece of knowledge, he'll do nearly anything to get you to stop.

Well, not _you_, specifically, reader. That is, I don't think you'd ever quite get into the position to find out. Jeeves and I both dislike the notion of anybody but me laying hands on his wonderful, perfectly sculpted body.

Beyond his ticklishness, I've also learned that Jeeves' favourite colour is mauve, he prefers chocolate to vanilla, he looks damn near perfect when at sea, fishing merrily, and he has the most magnificent eyes.

I could spend many fond hours listing all the things I know and love about my man Jeeves, but you might start getting a bit weary of the topic. Perhaps it'd be better to jump right to the feature event.

We were in the sitting room at Totleigh Towers, just a guest and his manservant among many at a fairly decent-sized dinner party. I was sitting on an ottoman by the fireplace and Jeeves was standing across the room in his usual Jeevesian glory. Usually, if we're at home, we wouldn't keep such a distance between ourselves, but, as circumstances demanded, Jeeves and I were being the perfect models of discretion. Still, with the fruit of our romance being so fresh and novel, I was half of the mind to declare hell with propriety, rush over to Jeeves, and cover him head to toe with all sorts of kisses and love-bites. 

I don't know if you've ever been in a crowded room in Totleigh Towers with the strong desire to leap up and cover Jeeves from h. to t. with all sorts of k.'s and l.-b.'s, but if you ever have, and were, for whatever reason, forced to act with complete discretion, you'd know how dashed frustrating it can be. There Jeeves stood, the very picture of cool and composed, with his dignified posture and knowing glares, and then there I was, barely restraining myself from rushing over to him and ravishing him where he stood.

Jeeves seemed to know exactly what was going through my mind. When I stared helplessly into those gorgeous eyes of his, the corner his mouth twitched upwards and he raised his right eyebrow just so, saying without words that he was not at all against the idea of being kissed, love-bitten, and ravished.

I shifted on my perch, and it seemed that hours passed with our eyes locked together in a rather steamy stare. It seemed to me that we were having a full-blown conversation right there, without opening our mouths once. I'll be damned if I could say what we were talking about, but I can say that it, whatever it was, had me squirming quite visibly on that ottoman.

Jeeves' eyes had a certain sparkle in them that, for reasons out of my control, brought my cheeks to no little pinkish hue. But, no matter how pink my cheeks were getting, or how hot I was getting under the collar, I just could not bring myself to tear my gaze from Jeeves'. So I was reasonably quite miffed when one Madeline Bassette sat down in my line of vision and stared me right in the eyes.

I must say, Madeline's eyes are not nearly as stunning as Jeeves'. They're both blue (Jeeves' and Madeline's, that is. Not both of Madeline's. Although they're both blue, as well, of course), but that's where all similarities end. Jeeves' eyes seemed to sparkle with great wells of knowledge and power. The wells in Madeline's eyes didn't sparkle so much as twinkle faintly, like a dying candle. 

What I mean to say is, if eyes really are windows to the soul, Madeline's soul is an empty potato sack, if you catch my drift. Her eyes are large, blank, and, on this occasion (and matching her personality quite well, I'd say): wet.

"Oh, Bertie," she sighed.

"Hullo?" I moved my head a bit to the side to try to catch sight of Jeeves again, but it was no use. The blasted woman just moved right back into my field of view.

"Bertie," she said again.

"Yes?" I really hoped she wouldn't just keep repeating my name over and over. Some people do that, you see, and those sorts of conversations really never seem to go anywhere.

"I can see how uncomfortable this is all making you."

I didn't quite follow her. "Uncomfortable?"

"Yes," she said, sadly. "Being here, near me. I could see you squirming around for almost half of an hour."

I could feel the blood rushing to my face. "Now that ... I, uh ... you see..."

"Hush, Bertie. You needn't explain yourself. I understand. But you must realize that you and I can never be, well, _you and I_," she said with a certain meaning. I could see what she was driving at and I didn't like it one bit. "Move on, Bertie. One day, you'll find a love even stronger than the one you have for me and it will be returned. I just hope that, whoever she is, she'll be able to bring you the happiness you deserve."

"Hm? Yes. Quite," I replied. I thought of Jeeves and smiled. Jeeves definitely brought me the happiness I deserve. He brings me even more happiness than I deserve, I'm afraid. Jeeves is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I'd much rather be staring into his eyes again, instead of Madeline's. I'd have asked her to biff off, but we Woosters have our code and, no matter how badly we'd love for all wet sops to kindly go as far away as possible so we can gaze lovingly at our manservants, there are some things we simply cannot say to a lady.

Fortunately, Madeline only remained for a few more seconds to stare quite sorrowfully at me before leaving. Once she'd moved, I quickly looked around the room for Jeeves again, but he was nowhere to be found. I let out a discontented sigh and started fidgeting with my pant leg.

It wasn't until moments later that I felt a hand come down onto my shoulder. I didn't need to look up to recognize whose hand it was, but I looked anyway, if only just to see his beautiful face and those wonderfully perfect eyes.

I am aware, by the way, of how incredibly soppy I may sound to you by going on about how beautiful and wonderful and perfect my valet may be, but I feel these are things that bear repeating. You see, Jeeves' marvelousness, if such a word exists, is something that can't quite be put into words. I feel it very important, though, for you to realize the extent of said marvelousness, so I feel it imperative to repeat, as often as possible, how incredibly incredible Jeeves is. Which is quite incredibly, if you haven't already guessed.

"A certain matter has arisen, sir," he was saying, "that demands your immediate presence back in your bedroom."

There was something about the way he said 'arisen' that sent shivers down my spine. "Demands, Jeeves?"

"Rather ardently, sir."

"Right ho, Jeeves. Lead the way."

When we got back to my room, Jeeves wasted no time in pressing me against the nearest flat surface and doing all sorts of wonderful things to my body that made me feel like the luckiest chap in the universe. As his tongue took up residency in my mouth, his two very eager hands kept sliding up and down the personal corpus. Finally, his left hand found itself tangled in my hair and his right moved lower to cup the front of my trousers, where he was met with no little enthusiasm.

I gasped and pulled Jeeves in closer. At that moment, I had my hands resting on Jeeves' lower back, but I quickly adjusted them so that I could return the attentions I was receiving. As Jeeves reached his hand into my trousers, I attempted to do the same. Unfortunately, the man had his shirt tucked in so fastidiously that I could hardly get my hand in. I pulled the offending shirt from his trousers and smiled triumphantly at my success. And, finally, I was able to take Jeeves in hand and give him the attention he deserved.

I am not proud to say that matters escalated rather quickly from that point. Were the evening not so young, were I not expected to return to the company downstairs, we may have had the opportunity to draw the affair longer. Certain activities suggested themselves, but were immediately dismissed for feasibility. I could tell that Jeeves was also letting his mind wander in the same direction, as I felt his other hand clutch me tightly from behind, his fingers teasing my cleft only briefly before releasing. 

He redirected his attentions instead, using his extra hand to tug and fondle at my sac. We both knew, whenever and however Jeeves reaches that point, it'll only be moments before I'll lose control and release myself with his name on my tongue.

"Jeeves," I started to pant.

I looked up at Jeeves' face, only to find him staring intently at mine own. His eyelids were half-closed, but we both managed to gaze into each other’s eyes as our breathing started getting heavier and heavier with growing urgency. "Sir," he gasped, and I really had to respect his feudal spirit for sticking with him in such a time as this.

At this moment, Jeeves' hand did something I could never mimic and I was bucking into his fist, crying out. My whole world shut down for a few glorious seconds and all I was aware of was the feel of Jeeves' hand and my release. When I came to, my face was buried where Jeeves' shoulder met his neck and my hand was covered with the sticky, warm evidence that Jeeves hadn't had too terrible a time himself.

I smiled and sighed happily. I looked up to admire my valet's expression of post-whatsit bliss. These were the few moments when Jeeves would let his guard down and I'd be able to see, clear as day, all the things he was thinking and feeling. His eyes fluttered open and I smiled into those blue eyes I've grown so fond of and, as I looked into the windows of Jeeves' soul, well, I'd be a monkey's uncle if that very soul wasn't alight with adoration for one Bertram Wilberforce Wooster.

I probably looked a silly ass, staring at Jeeves with such a fatuous expression on my face, but I couldn't help myself. If mothers could choose how their children could come out, every single child born to this world would be a Jeeves, that's how wonderful he is. He is, without a doubt, the very model of perfection.

"Jeeves," I said. "You are, without a doubt, the very model of perfection."

And with an upward curve on either side of his wonderful lips, he bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, sir."


End file.
